


Discipline

by Reprehensible_Content



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18, Abuse, But I wanted to be careful, Gen, I'm probably going overboard with the non-con tag, Light BDSM, Non-Consensual Spanking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, the principal is a terrible person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reprehensible_Content/pseuds/Reprehensible_Content
Summary: "Come back here! Didn’t you hear me? You need to be disciplined!” The Principal of the orphanage shouted, waving her umbrella in the air. “That’s the first thing I’m going to teach you! Line up here in a row, from the tallest to the shortest, and look smart about it! Come back here! Come back!”





	Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this as a joke after the first Moominpappa's Memoirs episode. That was a month ago, and here we are now.

“Come back here! Didn’t you hear me? You need to be disciplined!” The Principal of the orphanage shouted, waving her umbrella in the air. “That’s the first thing I’m going to teach you! Line up here in a row, from the tallest to the shortest, and look smart about it! Come back here! Come back!”

She caught Joxter and Muddler by the ears before they managed to get down below. “Stay right where you are, number 13!” Moomin froze in place, powerless to disobey the ingrained mechanisms that clicked into place.

“You there!” She shouted after Hodgkins as she dragged her captives roughly across the deck. “Get back here right this instant!”

The captain paused with his foot on the first step of the stairs up to the bridge.

“That's right! Come here, _now_.”

She dragged Joxter and Muddler into place, putting the fuzzy next to Moomin and the mumrik next him. Muddler cried out when she yanked his silky curls too hard, which brought Hodgkins over in a heartbeat.

“Now, Madam, that is quite enough…”

She caught the wrist of the hand that reached out to pull her away from his nephew. He yanked it back, breaking her grip easier, only to earn a sharp rap across the nose.

“How dare you lay your hands on a lady!” she spat, using the tip of the umbrella to push the stunned sea dog into place at the end of the row. “I simply must teach you how to behave!"

I’ll start by assigning you all a number. Number 13 already has a number, so we’ll start from him and work up. You,” here she aimed her umbrella at Muddler, who shrank away, “will be numbers 14,” then at Joxter, “15,” and finally at Hodgkins, “and 16, respectively.”

“Now, for your first lesson: when you greet me, you are to bow and hold up your tail at an angle of 45 degrees. Well? Tails up!”

Moomin obeyed immediately; he had been trained such that he adopted the perfect form in an instant. Muddler, confused and anxious, followed suit, glancing over at Moomin to copy his stance. Hodgkins and Joxter, however, remained standing.

“Didn't you hear me?” the Principal barked, striding forward. “Bend over!”

“I don't take orders,” Joxter informed her flatly.

“Nor I,” grunted Hodgkins, “particularly not on my own ship.”

“Is that so?” she sneered. “In that case, you can go first as payment for your impudence. And as you are number 16, you will get 16.”

“16 of what?”

“_Oh no_,” Moomin whispered.

“What is she…” Hodgkins didn’t get chance to finish, for the Principal spun her umbrella around with surprising dexterity to dash the handle against his temple with a sickening crack. The blow caught him just right, and he collapsed to the deck with a howl.

“Hodge!” Joxter pounced at her in an attempt to defend his friend, only to gag as the umbrella drove into his windpipe with the speed of a striking snake. The Principal took advantage of his recoil to beat him round the head, sending him to join Hodgkins on the floor.

“I can do this all day,” she sniffed, looking down at them as if they were something that she had been so unfortunate as to step in. “If I need to.”

Hodgkins looked up, a snarl building in his throat.

“_I’ll kill you_.”

The others froze at this uncharacteristic violence, but the Principal just laughed.

“You won’t,” she said serenely. “You’re going to do as you’re told.”

“Do it, Hodgkins!” Moomin screamed. “It'll only get worse! Just do as she says!”

That did it; slowly, reluctantly, Hodgkins stood and bent forward.

“There we go,” the Principal crooned in a sing-song voice, running the tip of the umbrella along Hodgkins’ spine as she walked around him. “That wasn’t difficult after all, now was it?”

Hodgkins didn’t reply, suppressing a shiver.

“Although, you must straighten yourself out to the correct angle.” She pinched the tip of his tail between thumb and forefinger.

“Have you not humiliated me enough, woman…”

A surprised yelp cut across the deck over the dull thud of her striking him across the backside, crushing his tail in the process.

“Goodness! What a funny little sound for such a big man!” she taunted as Hodgkins flushed with shame, eyes watering. “There’s a reason for asking you to lift your tails, you silly thing! Now, raise it as I asked, there’s a good lad.”

Swallowing pitiably, Hodgkins lifted his broken tail to give the Principal clear access to his hindquarters. She loomed over him, victorious.

“Now. Count."

Hodgkins gasped when the first strike landed.

“Well? What was that?”

“O-one.”

“_Good._”

She hit him again.

“T-two. Thhhree.”

“That’s it, that’s it!"

“Four. Fffive-fuck!”

The Principle rapped him harshly across the back.

“Watch your language, boy!” She hit him again. “What do you say?”

“Si-six?”

The fillyjonk hmphed. “I meant that you should say sorry, but I suppose your compliance is apology enough. Well, let’s keep going then!”

“Seven. Ahh-eeight! Nnnine.”

“That’s it, there’s a good boy!”

“T-ten. Eleven. Twwwelve.” The strikes were landing just as hard but Hodgkins was adapting, absorbing the blows with a swiftly hardening resolve.

“Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.”

The Principle scowled at his dead-eyed dignity and delivered the last strike as hard as if she were using a mallet to drive a wedge through a great boulder.

“Ssssixteen!” Hodgkins screamed, breaking.

“There you are! And after all that fuss, you’ve succeeded famously.” The Principle’s praises rolled over Hodgkin’s slumped form like acid rain. Now, stay there while I move onto the others.”

She prowled over to stand behind Joxter, twisting her weapon. “Next up! Fifteen for you, you lucky boy.”

Joxter said nothing, staring fixedly ahead.

“Be ready to count, boy.”

Joxter huffed, folding his arms with grim resolve.

“Insolence, is it? Well, we’ll soon fix that. Now. Count.”

She smacked him firmly across his buttocks, but he remained in resilient silence, biting his lip so hard it bled.

“Are you _deaf_, boy? I told you to _count_.”

“Oh, let’s just say that I never bothered learning my numbers,” he snarled back at her in defiance.

The Principal worked her umbrella in her hands as if were a riding crop. “Well,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet, “I think I may have a teaching method that will mean you won’t forget.”

She hit him so hard with the handle of the umbrella that Joxter sprawled forward onto the deck with a yell.

“Get up,” she hissed, hooking the handle into the nape of his smock to yank him back upright. He made a strangled noise as the fabric bit into his neck before hitting the ground again under the force of another wicked blow.

“Oh, for goodness sake, get a grip, will you! Hold your ankles, if it makes it easier. Or put your palms on the floor. Honestly,” she tutted, “I'm going far too easy on you boys.”

Joxter walked back on his hands, stifling a sob, to present his rear end.

“Tail.”

With some effort, he lifted it as desired. The Principle snorted, satisfied, then started at a punishing pace.

“I don't like doing this to you,” she scolded as she hit him so hard that he rocked forwards.

“This hurts me more than it hurts you.”

Joxter grunted in pain, trying desperately to deprive her of the satisfaction of hearing anything louder.

“But it's for your own good.”

Joxter collapsed onto his elbows, clamping his hands over his mouth, tears streaming over his fingers.

“You simply must learn some manners!”

The last strike of what was almost certainly more than fifteen was enough to drag a choked plea from him.

“Please!”

The Principle halted, panting. “That better. Not good enough, but better.” She pressed the point of the umbrella against the base of his tail to prevent him from crumpling. “Not yet! You’re to stay up until I;ve finished with _all_ the children.”

Moomin squeezed Muddler’s outstretched hand as the Principle stalked over to her next victim. She saw this and made him let go with a swift strike to his knuckles.

“Wait!” Moomin pleaded. He’d been passive too long, and he couldn’t bear to see the gentle Muddler suffer. The others could bear it, but not Muddler. “I'll take his! Please, mistress principle, please let me take his!”

The Principle clucked. “That's admirable, number 13, but then it wouldn't be of any benefit. Your manners are already well-taught; if I don't discipline him, how can he be expected to learn how to behave as well as you?”

“With that said,” she stooped down behind Muddler, “he _did_ do as requested the first time I asked. Well…” She removed a collapsible ruler from a pocket and opened it to a right angle. “Not quite,” she tutted, holding the ruler against Muddler’s behind to measure the angle of elevation. “I asked for 45 degrees, and this is closer to 30!”

She huffed, disappointed, and snapped the ruler out straight. “Still, I must take your obedience into consideration. I’ll be _gentle_ with you. Now, as for the others: count.”

She spanked Muddler’s ass with the ruler; if Muddler was already weeping, this set him off bawling.

“Oh, do stop crying, you silly boy! Be grateful that you're only getting the ruler; the others have had far worse. Now. _Count_.”

Another harsh swat. Muddler screeched. The Principle huffed an exasperated little noise.

“Alright, number 13,” she snapped. “I've decided you can help your friend.

Moomin's ears twitched. “Oh, thank you Ma'am!”

“You can count for him. He's clearly too fragile to manage both.”

Moomin choked.

“Hodgki-iin...” Muddler whined; but his uncle didn't respond, staring fixedly at the deck.

The Principle tapped the ruler in readiness.

“Count.”

There was a whip and a crack. Muddler screamed.

“One,” Moomin whispered.

“Louder, number 13.”

Whip. Crack. Scream.

“T-two.”

“Louder, 13, or I'll beat him harder.”

“No!” Muddler shrieked as the next strike fell.

“Three!” Moomin forced out.

“Better,” purred The Principle.

Whip.

“Four.”

Crack.

“Five.”

Scream.

“Six."

“Nuuh-hu-huuuu...” Muddler howled.

“Seven.”

“Half-way!” the Principle trilled.

“Eight.”

Muddler's eyes were streaming.

“Nine.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Ten.”

They gathered under his chin to splash onto the deck.

“Eleven.”

Moomin wept in sympathy.

“Twelve.”

Muddler’s cries were dying down to sniffles and whimpers.

“Thirteen.”

“Just one more now,” the Principle cooed sweetly. She delivered the final blow with enough conclusive force that she extracted one last shriek.

“Fourteen.”

“There!” the Principle patted the Muddler's trembling buttocks, ignoring how he jerked at her touch. “That wasn't so hard, was it? Was it?” she added threateningly when the Muddler couldn’t answer.

“No, ma'am,” he whispered, voice wobbling.

“That's better,” she nodded in approval. “I might be able to make something of you!”

She marched around to the front of the line again, straightening her rumpled shirt.

“Alright, we're finished. Don't make me do that again!” When they stayed still as statues, she barked “Well, get to it! I want to get back to the orphanage by sundown!”

Joxter went first, bolting across the deck to scramble up the mast and disappear into the crow's nest. Hodgkins rose stiffly and walked to the helm in a daze. Muddler collapsed in a heap, sobbing.

“Scrape this thing up,” the Principle snapped at Moomin, looking down at the miserable little creature with distaste. “This whinging is growing tiresome.”

Quickly, because he knew the drill well (the other orphans had cared for him in this way, and he then), Moomin scooped an arm around the Muddler and heaved him to his feet.

“Come on now,” he soothed, “it's alright.”

He guided him back to his coffee tin and helped him inside; he had to give him a leg-up, because his limbs were shaking too hard for him to coordinate his movements. He plopped in after him and took the shaking boy into his arms.

“It's alright,” he murmured gently, moving his hands in comforting circles against his back. “I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

Muddler wept into his shoulder, and Moomin wished more than ever that he'd left the Principle to the Groke.


End file.
